


A Simple Warmth

by SarcasmFish (Alcyonidae)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort/Angst, F/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-05-21 14:36:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6055219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcyonidae/pseuds/SarcasmFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wanted someone to know just how hard he was fighting and just how much pain he was masking. He wanted someone to know how hard it was just to get out of bed in the morning and how equally difficult it was to lie down and sleep. No, not someone. Her. And not as the Inquisitor, as his friend. The sudden desire to open himself, to be vulnerable to her, was overwhelming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Simple Warmth

The headache had begun early that morning, even before the sun rose, but the meeting had set it thrashing against his skull. The sun streaming in through the stained glass windows only strained the tense feeling and made him wince whenever he looked up too quickly. He missed the darkened chantry room they held war meetings in while they were in Haven. Skyhold was too open and too bright for his liking.

He had done his best to restrain his hands from rubbing at his aching head during the meeting, setting them instead on the pommel of his sword with a fierce grip. Now that the room was emptying of witnesses he allowed himself the comfort of pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, anything to stop them from watering and burning. His little tower home was not far. It was dark and somewhat quiet. He needed to make it there before the pain took further root in his brain, but the thought of striding through all those chatty nobles and across the sun baked embattlements only served to make him more nauseous. With a frustrated groan he turned and leaned back against the heavy war table.

“I agree. It was a long meeting with few decisions made.”

He started at the sudden voice, dropping his hands away from his face. He had been certain that everyone had fled after Josephine had called the meeting to a close. But standing a few feet away from him was the Inquisitor, her arms crossed loose across her body. She was watching him, unsure, but smiled when he looked up at her without reproach.

“Inquisitor.. I..” He made to stand, but decided against it. His wavering balance would only give him away further. Instead, he sat back against the table, deciding to latch onto her cue and blame his frustration on the meeting, not his health. “It… seems we did not make much progress.”

She shrugged a slender shoulder, the smile growing with mirth. “I have the upmost faith in the capability of my advisors.” He tried to return her amicable smile. It was watery and weak. Her head tilted a moment before she stepped closer to him. She paused, seeming to contemplate her words before asking in a soft, intimate breath. “Are you alright?”

He swallowed and glanced away from her gaze, picking up and setting back down one of the marker pieces on the map as a distraction while he gathered his thoughts. The honest concern in her eyes was too much for him. He wanted nothing more than to tell her everything when she looked at him like that. The pain was supposed to lessen, but in the last few days it had only grown worse. It was wearing him down, like as a recruit when the knight-captains had made them balance buckets of water on their outstretched arms until they could no longer stand the strain in their muscles. He wanted someone to know just how hard he was fighting and just how much pain he was masking. He wanted someone to know how hard it was to get out of bed in the morning and how equally difficult it was to lie down and sleep. Not someone. Her. The sudden desire to open himself, to be vulnerable to her, was overwhelming. 

He cleared his throat and dug his fingers into the edge of the table he was perched on. This was not the time. She had enough burdens without adding a failing former Templar to her list of things to fix. His duty was to advise and assist her. He refused to be another of her troubles. Their friendship was tenuous enough as it was with their past labels.

“A headache. It will pass.” He finally replied, his voice more gruff than he had intended.

He was staring at her feet when she stepped closer and pressed a cool, gentle hand to his forehead. He jerked his head up, startled by her sudden touch. He gaped and stared at her, unable to fathom why she had decided to reach out to him so suddenly. They had never stood this close. Ridiculous ideas formed in his head. She would be able to read his thoughts at this distance, see them written out in his eyes. She would learn the secrets he guarded, the horrendous things he had done in his past that he now endeavored to atone for; the daily struggles that he battled, and the affections that he withheld from her even now.

She almost drew back her hand as his silent stare continued, growing shy. “I just… wanted to check if you had a fever. You looked a little pale for a moment.” Her voice was still soft and personal, as if crafted only for him.

“It’s alright.” He whispered in return, not trusting himself to speak much louder. Her hand lingered against his skin and then moved to rest against his cheek, light and tentative. She was not looking at him. She was staring at her hand as if it had moved on its own accord. 

He studied her openly; the color of her eyes, the flush of her skin, the fall of her hair, the light scar slanted over her brow and cheek. He had once heard the Inquisitor described as an average sort of pretty. Trussed up at a ball with other well-bred flowers she would have blended into the garden of them, a noble girl that would have been married off and forgotten. In that moment, he could not have disagreed more. The blush of her cheeks, the kindness in the depth of her eyes made her lovelier than he had ever noticed. Why hadn’t he seen it before? Had he expected her touch to be different? Had he expected to be able to feel magic creeping through her fingertips and coating his skin like oil? Ridiculous. Her touch was hesitant and uncertain, but gentle and tender as if he were a fragile, fleeting thing. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and lean in to her, to place his hand over her own in assurance. 

A raucous, rational part of his brain attempted to remind him that this is not how one checks for a fever and this should be stopped before all his good intentions from earlier were ruined. He tried to drown out the reason, ignore it long enough so that he could claim this moment for himself. How starved he was for a little compassion and gentleness. It almost frightened him. Reason pressed down on him again, but he could no longer heed the warning. He could only stare up at her and think about how much he wanted her to kiss him.

Maker. It was suddenly the one thing he wanted most. Corypheus, lyrium pain, the rifts in the sky? Sod them all. He only wanted to know what her lips would feel like against his, what it would feel like to have her to hold. He nearly opened his mouth to say it all, to tell her how he cared for her and worried for her each time she left. How he wanted to accompany her and be her shield on each mission but couldn’t trust himself to do so.

The Inquisitor seemed to realize how close she had gotten to him. Her eyes widened and she began to pull away. Without thinking, he caught her wrists before she could fully back away, wanting only to keep her close for a few more seconds. An unconscious panic flickered across her eyes accompanied by a startled gasp. She immediately attempted to pull herself free from his hold. He dropped his hands at once and she did not withdraw further. 

His heart ached. He would never harm her and even to scare her was too much to bear. Apologies and assurances rose to his lips, but seemed too hollow to voice. He lowered his eyes back down to her feet, the guilt and shame of years gone by drowning out even his incessant headache. To think a mage broken by his ilk would ever allow him the presence of friendship. To think a damaged once-Templar might ever have something more than that, might ever be something more than that. What a fool. He had nothing to offer. She was wise to be wary of him. 

“I hope you feel better soon.” Her voice came from a whisper, almost too quiet to hear, even in the empty room. It was silent between them for a moment before he could muster the strength to lift his eyes to hers. There was no judgement or fear in them like he had expected to see, and the catch in his throat meant he could only give a simple nod in response.

She hesitated, her hand hovering in the air a moment. He wished he could reach out and guide it back to where it had lain before, to brush his fingers across her skin, to leave a simple kiss in her palm as thank you for her warmth. But he would not test her trust again, would not pressure her to move past her comfort.  
He forced himself to remain perfectly still. He remarked how much like a little bird she reminded him. Not the bright and colorful creatures the Orleasians favored keeping in cages that talked and squawked, but the small simple brown ones that sometimes fluttered through the hole in his roof. The ones he occasionally left crumbs for, ever frightened to flee if his footsteps grew too heavy or his movements too quick.

He gave her a simple smile and she returned it. The action seemed to give her the courage to finish reaching for him. She brushed an errant lock of hair back from his temple, the touch reverent and slow, melting so much of the hardened parts of his heart that had atrophied without his notice. It was a small gesture of hope, something he had not felt in so long.

And then she was gone, leaving him with a headache that seemed so inconsequential now.

**Author's Note:**

> I was feeling rather pitiful when I wrote this, but I rather like how it turned out in the end.


End file.
